


Practice Makes Perfect

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Crack, Humor, Innuendo, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake wants to combine his talents with Avon's. Avon can't resist even though giving in to his secret pleasure is a weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"No!" Avon said. As always he had his voice until control so that only Blake heard him above the murmur of Jenna coaching Cally on the flight controls, and Vila showing Gan the details of the weaponry console. "It was a mistake, one I will not repeat!" He lowered his head, pretending to concentrate on his own panel.

Blake moved closer to Avon, posing so that the long, hard bulge in his trousers was unmistakable.

Avon averted his eyes, but his attention was forcibly drawn back when Blake put his forefinger into his mouth, and suggestively sucked on it, his cheeks hollowing and filling.

"Are you mad!" Avon was becoming desperate. Ever since he had given in to temptation, Blake had been teasing him, flaunting Avon's secret passion. "If the others find out..."

"The cabins are sound-proof. No one will know." Blake lowered his voice into that deep, soft burr that always made Avon think of forbidden pleasures. "We were good together, Avon."

"No," Avon said, but he was weakening, unable to keep his eyes away from Blake's hidden treasure.

Blake knew. He always knew. In a clear, carrying voice he said, "Avon, I have a problem with the comm unit in my room. Bring your tools." And he turned and left the flight deck.

Jenna and Vila glanced up at Blake's departure. Avon scowled for their benefit, snatched up his laser probe, and followed Blake.

***

"I don't want to do this," Avon said once he reached Blake's cabin.

"Yes, you do," Blake said, handing Avon a drink. "Just relax and let it happen." He unzipped his trousers and reached inside. "Once I start, you won't be able to resist."

Avon groaned and gulped the drink, knowing he would be needing it. He set the glass down and watched, wide-eyed, as Blake fondled his instrument, fingers flexing as they moved up and down.

"How did you ever manage to hide _that_ from the guards?" Avon asked, delaying the inevitable. He could feel his vocal cords tightening, and his respiration increasing in conditioned reflex to Blake's actions.

Blake grinned. "How did _you_ hide? I should think you must have been quite obvious when you were being questioned." Blake took a step forward, head high, eyes calmly dominant, and Avon felt himself falling into the role he'd been taught at school, oh, so very long ago, breaking the rigid control he kept over his every waking moment.

"They were connoisseurs of pain, not pleasure. They never realized," Avon said, his voice grown embarrassingly soft, pitch rising as Blake approached and put his hands on Avon's shoulders.

"Over there. Against the wall," Blake ordered, and Avon obeyed, in a daze, eyes glazing. "Take a deep breath," Blake ordered, seeing that Avon looked about to faint. "There, that's better. Shall I begin?"

Avon nodded and closed his eyes.

Blake lifted his silver flute to his lips and began playing.

"Addio, miei sospiri," Avon sang in a crystal-clear countertenor.


End file.
